Untitled
by SkywardShadow
Summary: He doesn't know love. He doesn't know his family. He doesn't even know his name. And it doesn't bother him. Drabble-ish. Oneshot. Plotline kind of Out There in some respects.


Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of the characters in it.

**A/N: It occurs to me that the plotline for this story is probably pretty crack-y. But whatever; in my warped mind, theories involving Danzo run amok, and this one needed to be written. So I hope you like it. :) –SS**

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**Untitled**

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He was intentional, but not the same way that most such children are.

He was born for a _reason_, made solely for business. Not born out of love. Not even out of a passion-induced mistake.

He was like a tool-made to be used.

But it didn't bother him.

**.**

His family, for the brief time he had one, could be kindly described as dysfunctional.

His father was one of the most powerful men to ever exist in the history of shinobi. A cold, somewhat sadistic man who figured a son could prove himself useful in the future. Woe betide his poor lover if her child turned out to be a girl.

It didn't. It was a boy.

But that didn't save her.

And it doesn't bother him.

**.**

He doesn't really remember love.

Not of the parental kind, anyway. His father never held him, and discouraged his mother from doing so; the woman could only hold her sweet baby for a few seconds every now and again when she had some time to herself.

Love is something he had when he was too young to appreciate it, and something he can't mourn now because he doesn't know or understand it. He can't even hope for it, because he doesn't realize it's missing from his life.

And that isn't really his fault.

Not that any of that bothers him.

**.**

He was still very, very small when it happened. Not quite a year old.

His father was eye-deep (deeper, actually) in a plot to kill an entire clan. _His_ entire clan, in point of fact. Women, children-no one was to be left alive. Except for himself, his own son (for business purposes; nothing more), and a prodigy of the clan. A young boy who didn't know it yet, but would one day be forced to carry out the slaughter-even kill his own immediate family; his parents and little brother.

The actual killing would not take place for a long time; many years of planning and cunning had to be done first. His father would infiltrate the high offices of the village and gain their respect (trust? Don't make him laugh) under an alias, and everything would go smoothly from there.

His father told his mother of this plan on that mockingly sunny day; he brought it up casually, in a low but calm voice. Without any trace of emotion (save perhaps amusement), he spoke of the massacre to come.

Naturally, his mother was horrified. She started shaking, tears pouring from her eyes as she realized the deteriorated mental state of her lover (this observation was actually wrong; for you cannot deteriorate _what was not there to begin with_).

His father killed his mother. As a tiny child he watched the woman who had given birth to him fall to the ground-slowly-with freshly lifeless eyes as her doomed life's blood went everywhere. Some of it landed on her son's face. He blinked with a baby's curiosity as his father laughed over the brutally mutilated corpse of his child's mother.

These memories remain burned into the very, very back of his twisted-up mind, smoldering.

And they don't bother him.

**.**

He was dumped into an orphan's home soon after.

No one questioned. He himself was too small to recognize the lie unfolding-he, who still had a father, was being put in a place for children with no parents?-and so memories of a short-lived and rather disturbed family life were buried underneath the unwitting lie he accepted and learned as his reality.

He had a brother, for a while. Not blood-related, of course. Another orphan he looked up to and grew to love. At least, he would call it love if he really comprehended the word.

But his brother died, taking a small but important piece of the younger boy with him. He was left incomplete, and alone.

Time went by, and he became _special_. He learned to stamp out emotions. He eventually served under the man who, in a different situation, he might have called 'Father'. (He didn't know this, naturally.)

He became a walking mask; never _feeling_, just pretending he did. It served him and his duty well.

It did lasting damage to his mind, where no amount of medical jutsu could possibly do any good.

But it didn't bother him.

**.**

He was placed on a team. A four-ninja cell.

Him, a sensei, a pink-haired kunoichi, and a loud blond boy who..well, didn't like him very much.

At all, actually.

But it didn't matter. He didn't care. His first mission with Team Seven was nothing to him; just a cover-up for the real intentions beneath the surface.

He was to make a deal with the sworn enemy of his native village (he didn't really consider anyplace his 'home').

He was to find a traitor of that village-in that respect, at least, he and his teammates were on the same page. But they had different notions about how it would end.

He was supposed to kill the boy, the traitor, the one his teammates stubbornly insisted on labeling a 'friend'.

What did the word even mean? He had forgotten, a long time ago.

And it did not bother him.

**.**

But something began to crack.

He found the traitor, eventually. Spoke to him. Thought about what his blond teammate had said, over and over again-something about a 'bond'.

Something else he didn't understand. Not remotely.

That was the thing, however. The strange factor.

For some inexplicable reason, he _wanted _to know what the meaning of a 'bond' was all about.

He didn't understand bonds.

And it _bothered_ him.

**.**

He gave up the mission.

He gave up on never feeling anything.

He gave up on his silent loyalty.

He gave up on not thinking for himself.

He gave up on all those fake, meaningless smiles.

He gave a lot of things up.

Because they _bothered_ him.

(In all honesty, they always had.)

**.**

It used to be that he _had_ no future.

Life was only ever as long as the slight breathing room between dangerous missions, and not even really then. He had lived as the most pitiable form of shinobi, feeling nothing, torturing himself in that manner.

But with a team, a new outlook, some finally finished art, and a reclaimed piece of himself (he had found it at last), he was, to put it dramatically, _reborn_.

He had given up much-everything he had known-but he had gained so very much in exchange. He was learning now, about emotions and friends, about compliments and nicknames, about bonds and happiness and _real_ smiles.

Going back to his old lifestyle would, to understate it, bother him _immensely_.

**.**

He had a name.

(Maybe he still has one.)

His mother would whisper it to him, on the rare occasion that her lover was out and she could express her love for her baby son without fear.

She would murmur the name very softly, as if the wind and trees and walls were unworthy of hearing the blessing that was his name. Her smile would broaden, her eyes would sparkle with a light that didn't die until she did. She would kiss him gently and hold him, surrounding him with the kind of love only a mother can give.

He can't possibly recall exactly what she called him, and heaven knows his father-if he even knew his father lived-would never say.

For now, he lives-yes, he finally _lives_-with the name Danzo gave him, the gift that is an identity: _Sai_.

He doesn't know his real name.

But it doesn't bother him, because he knows he will.

Someday.

**.**

**Owari?**

**.**

**A/N: Hey, I told you it was kinda crackish. XD But Sai is fun to play with, and Danzo..well, I just have way too much fun with him and his possible alter ego (the lowlife..).**

**Oh, and the title of this fic is, in fact, "Untitled". That could refer to Sai's art, or the fact that he himself doesn't have a real name. Meh… -grin-**

**Hope you enjoyed!! Sayo! -SS**


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